I have been focusing a lot on my Sherlock fic recently, and I feel like I have betrayed my Doctor Who ones. I will continue with some of them, but for now, here's a new one I've been thinking about. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own.

The Doctor ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, and quickly wiped away the tear threatening to reveal his emotions to the empty room. He had had that dream again. There was nobody here-the only noise was the lonely whine of the TARDIS-so there really wasn't any point trying to stifle his pain. But he had made an unspoken promise to her that he would continue.

The only reason he had done this was because he wanted her to do the same. He knew the pain this separation had caused him, and if their last conversation on the beach was anything to go by, she had felt the exact same way.

It's strange, because the Doctor was used to losing people. His lifestyle had lead to him becoming accustomed to feeling the gaps in his heart where someone had died, or been cruelly taken away from him. Most of the time he managed to ignore the pain-it was like he was in dark room full of holes that only became noticeable when you shone a light on them. So he continued to go through life, not shining lights on the holes. Because the holes hurt.

But this hole was impossible to ignore. When she had been taken from him, the hole was so big it consumed the whole floor below him. And he couldn't just ignore it by not shining a light on it, because he was falling down it. Falling at a terrifying pace. He saw the whole world spinning past in an alarmingly dizzying manner, and his insides churned uncomfortably all the time. And the deeper he got into the hole, the more it hurt, like the pressure was pushing down on his brain more and more and more. And there was no way to stop it. There was only one person who could throw down a strong enough rope that could drag him back to the shining, wonderful world he used to be in.

But she wasn't coming back. So he had to grit his teeth and continue, trying to pretend it didn't hurt.

He sat up, taking a few deep breaths before dragging himself reluctantly out of bed and going to get ready. The last thing he wanted to do was go and face another day without her. But he knew he must. Because, somehow, he felt that if he managed to do it, then she would. Even with her so far away, in a parallel universe, he felt that they had both made some sort of unconscious agreement to go on without the other.

After putting on his usual brown suit and converse, he began to idly wander through the lonely TARDIS corridors. Even the TARDIS sounded sad, as if she too was desperately yearning for her presence. The TARDIS seemed to like Rose. Sometimes, he would have brought companions onto his ship, only to have them constantly getting lost in the changing corridors that only he really knew how to navigate. But Rose Tyler almost always found the right path.

He got into the console room and slumped onto the seat, trying to imagine for one second that she was there beside him, chatting and laughing and smiling. But she wasn't. And she wouldn't be ever again. Come on, Doctor, pull yourself together.


He shook his head and rubbed his temples. Great. Hearing voices now. First sign of madness and all that.

"Doctor!" The familiar voice echoed in his head.

"Stop it." He growled. The sound of her voice was wonderful-it filled him with happiness and warmth. But he had to think rationally here-voices in the head was not a good sign.

Suddenly, the screen on the TARDIS console flickered on and declared he was receiving a signal from some unknown source. He grabbed his sonic screwdriver from his pocket, accidentally pulling out his psychic paper and knocking it onto the floor as he did so. He began messing and tweaking with the screen trying to capture whatever was being sent to him. A promising sound, similar to one when someone tunes a radio, was emitted, and he continued to twiddle with the controls.

"Come on, come on, come on." He muttered, wanting desperately to find something that could distract him for today at least.

A disappointing buzzing came from the speakers, and the screen returned to it's idle state, leaving the Doctor annoyed and dismayed. He hit it angrily, crying out in frustration, before flopping back down, defeated, onto the empty seats.

"Oh, Rose." He whispered, letting a solitary tear-put there by a mixture of anger and sadness-slip down his cheek, before hastily wiping it away.

"Doctor." The voice said, making his head spin. He wanted so desperately for it just to be real, for the separation between the to just have been a bad dream, like the ones he had every night. Watching Rose being pulled away from him...

"Doctor, look!" The voice urged him. He eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What?" He asked. Oh great. Now he was replying to the voices in his head.

"Look, Doctor!" He really didn't understand what she was trying to tell him-it seemed unwise to try and understand anyway, as following what voices in the head instructed you to do seemed like a very dangerous thing to do.

He jumped up and shook his head, then started doing his usual dance around the console, flicking switches, pressing buttons and pulling levers. He hummed absently to himself before noticing his psychic paper on the floor which he had dropped earlier. He leant down to pick it up, sighing as yet another inanimate object brought back so many memories that haunted him constantly. On closer inspection, the Doctor realised that there was something written on the paper. Yes! Somebody was trying to get in contact with him. Grinning for the first time this morning, he held it it so he could read what was written on it.

He almost fell over when he saw the message. He had to grip the console as his head began to spin and he was suddenly overwhelmed with every possible emotion all at once. Two words that he had seen scattered everywhere across time and space. His heart beat increased as he read the words over and over, two words that had the power to reduce the oncoming storm into an emotional wreck.

Quickly gathering himself together, he began to set up to console so he could track the origin of the message, shakily dashing around the controls, desperate to find where it was coming for. The message, to his immense relief, stayed clear and safe on the psychic paper, which was now attached to the TARDIS with some metal clips and colourful wires.

The Doctor glanced over to the paper and couldn't help but smile as he reread the words it displayed.

Bad Wolf.

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